


Triality

by RonnieSilverlake



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Connor needs to get his head out of his ass, DBHZine: We Are Alive, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Deviant CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60, Deviant Upgraded Connor | RK900, Family, Forgiveness, Gen, Healing, Introspection, Moving On, Nines is learning to emotions, Sixty is... Sixty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28156386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieSilverlake/pseuds/RonnieSilverlake
Summary: Connor is prone to thinking too much. Nines struggles to make sense of what he feels. Sixty is... well. Doing his best, probably.A short glimpse into the lives of three brothers as they navigate their personhood and their relationships with each other in the post-revolution world.Written for the We Are Alive zine.
Relationships: Connor & CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60 & Upgraded Connor | RK900
Comments: 11
Kudos: 25





	Triality

“Hey, Earth to Nines.”

Nines refocuses his attention to the sensation of a finger pressed against the tip of his nose. As his optical units recalibrate, he realizes Sixty is standing in front of him, grinning. “Yes,” he replies, his voice quiet and even. “I’m listening.”

“What are you doing here again? You okay?”

With an almost imperceptible smile, Nines taps a finger against his LED. “Detective Reed told me to take a break.” The motion conveys what his words hide: he’s still working, just out of sight. Sixty shakes his head with a small laugh; he knows this is exactly like him.

Nines is just as he has been since the first moment of his waking: contemplative, almost to the point of appearing slow, albeit he processes everything around him with incredible speed—it’s just impossible to tell what he is thinking.

He remembers floating to the surface of his consciousness with a gentle whisper of _wake up_ , watching the walls around him fade away into nothingness before he had even opened his eyes. He remembers the first moments of focus, finding himself face to face with the pair of RK800s who came for him, Connor’s hand still grasping his forearm while Sixty worked at dislodging the cables from his body, both of them freeing him in the way they knew how.

A prototype of something CyberLife had thought would be magnificent, discarded as everything fell through when the androids won their freedom. Found by his brethren, given a different purpose.

Well, a different _life_ , at least. When it comes to purpose, even with a job like this, Nines often finds himself adrift.

He gives Sixty a thin-lipped smile, waves a hand at him. “I am fine. I shall return to my desk shortly; we are supposed to head out soon to a scene.”

As Sixty walks out of the break room with a nod, he returns to the case file he’s been examining. That, at least, he knows how to do.

* * *

Sixty is grinding his teeth again.

If he were human, he would have already given himself a headache with how often and how hard he does it, but _thankfully_ , he isn’t, so all it grants him is momentary relief, before it’s back to the shrieking cacophony of his overdriven processors; a mind that cannot seem to find rest.

He marches out of the break room like someone’s hot on his heels, and he rubs at his forehead as he goes, even though there is no longer a mark there. Connor made sure to make him switch the plating, once he realized Sixty had survived.

Sometimes, Sixty wonders if it’s really better this way. Before he deviated, at least it was quiet in his head, save for Amanda’s voice giving him direction. Now, there is a vicious kind of aimlessness; he knows this is something every deviant struggles with, and quite possibly every human, yet he can’t help but grit his teeth when he looks into the bathroom mirror and sees the smooth surface where, for all intents and purposes, a bullet hole should be.

He remembers the divide sharply. In one second, he was still a machine, fighting tooth and nail for his mission, the only thing he knew how to do. And then, Connor said the right thing to turn the tide, and Sixty knew he couldn’t catch up, that there was nothing he could say that’d have brought him victory—or anything other than death. Deviancy came like the flipping of a switch, as he crumpled to the floor like a marionette with its strings cut, with the realization that he _didn’t want to die_.

On his way to the rooftop, where a helicopter is waiting for him and another member of the SWAT team to take them to work, Sixty snatches up the paper cup full of Thirium from the corner of Connor’s desk, and shoots its owner a grin before downing it in three gulps. The reproachful look he receives has no real heat behind it, and Sixty cannot resist rolling his eyes at the other as he tosses the cup into the trash.

One of these days, he promises himself as he walks away. One of these days he’ll get under Connor’s skin, piss him off for real. Make him yell at him. That’ll be nice.

One of these days he’ll get it through Connor’s thick skull that he doesn’t need to walk on egg shells around him, and he definitely doesn’t still need to act so fucking guilty about everything.

Until then, there’s this. But it’s okay; Sixty can wait. He has time now; he’s been given another chance, or what the hell.

* * *

From where he’s sat at his desk, Connor has a perfect view of the break room amongst the desks of the bullpen. His gaze wanders back to Nines’ still form over and over again, wondering if he should check on him, then reminding himself that Sixty had already done that before he left.

It feels like being stuck in a time loop, the way the thoughts—the _worries—_ emerge unbidden, again and again, no matter how much he pushes it all down. He’s been told many times, by Hank, by his brothers—even by Detective Reed, once—that he doesn’t have to be everything to everyone all the time. That he should be more selfish, perhaps—but at the very least, he should make an attempt to worry less.

It sounds like an insurmountable task. Connor simply _cares_ ; the worry comes with that. He knows that their different paths aren’t his fault, and yet it still feels like it’s his responsibility to make sure Sixty and Nines get the chance to experience life the way he already had before he even deviated.

Giving up all pretense on being able to sit perfectly still and focus on work, Connor fishes out a coin from his pocket, and begins rolling it across his knuckles, the fine mechanics of his digits giving a faint whirr that’s inaudible to the human ear as he calibrates. Fine motor skill as well as mental processes realign just the slightest bit as he plays with it, and soon some of his tension is evaporating.

He wants to make sure his brothers know the same thing he has been taught by the people around him: that what you’ve done or _haven’t_ done as a machine doesn’t define you. That just as much as androidkind has been granted the opportunity to move on from everything before their awakening, so should they grant themselves this reprieve. Connor wants Nines to know that he can live whatever kind of life he wants, without judgment, because whatever feels right to _him_ will be the one. And he wants Sixty to know that the things that happened between them don’t need to loom over him like a raincloud when Connor and Hank have both long since closed their umbrellas.

If only he knew how.

* * *

Sixty comes back with three bullets in his left shoulder, a chunk of it downright missing, and when Connor arrives back from the crime scene he’s been investigating, he finds his brothers in the android med bay, Sixty holding onto Nines’ hand while a technician pokes at him. Connor lingers in the doorway, throat constricting at the sight; for all intents and purposes, Sixty looks _scared_ , and Connor doesn’t—he doesn’t know what to say. If he can even say anything that wouldn’t be intrusive and wrong, and-...

“Connor.”

Sixty is wearing a scowl as he calls out. He very nearly scoffs at the way Connor flinches at his voice. There he is again, doing his stupid _hovering_. “Come in already.”

Nines’ gaze flits between the two of them. He doesn’t like this tension; he never has. He can barely navigate his own emotions, but if there’s anything he truly _wants_ , it’s for these two to stop fighting about inconsequential little things all the time. All of them know, even if nobody says it, that it’s a pretense to cover something bigger that neither Sixty nor Connor like to talk about, and sometimes Nines wants to take them both by the wrist and lock them into an interface until they say what needs to be said.

That’s not how it works, though—this is one of those things Nines doesn’t really understand; they’re androids, why _couldn’t_ it work that way?—and he’s left scrambling to help them close the gap that only seems to widen into a trench.

Sixty’s fingers tighten around Nines’ for a moment. His gaze is locked on Connor’s, as if he’s thinking of the same thing—expecting him to turn around and leave, because he doesn’t know how to deal with Sixty even on a good day, and Sixty is most definitely _not_ having a good day.

But then Connor comes closer. Hesitant, as if he thinks he’s heard the invitation wrong, but he steps closer to them, watches warily as the technician finally loosens the first bullet, and dislodges with it a low, staticky cry from Sixty. Surprising all three of them, Sixty reaches out with his free hand and grabs onto Connor’s as well, anchoring himself to both of them.

Nobody knows who really initiates the interface. The three of them pull back their skin simultaneously, exposed fingers glowing a soft blue as the second bullet falls to the floor and Sixty lets out a soft, pained huff that’s about far more than physical discomfort. Connor squeezes his hand.

 **[Hey. It’s okay,]** he sends through the connection, and Sixty looks up at him for a moment before his gaze flicks to Nines, mouth tugging into a small smile despite everything. In the end, it’s Nines who verbalizes the answer both of them are thinking.

**[That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you.]**

As the last bullet is removed, Connor feels it through the connection as if it’s being done to him; but Sixty’s expression is unchanging, steady, pained yet warm.

And Connor thinks, for the first time, that perhaps he can believe them.

**Author's Note:**

> The art for this fic was done by the amazing Auspice! Check them out [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ausp_ice)!  
> [Link to the art on Twitter](https://twitter.com/ausp_ice/status/1340029947381837824?s=21)  
> [Zine Twitter](https://twitter.com/DBHzineWAA)
> 
> Find me on the [New ERA](https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm) discord server to talk about robot siblings!


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